


Life or Death

by thedevilchicken



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Captivity, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, M/M, Mid-Canon, Post-Canon, Spit As Lube, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Michael has a favor to ask. And Alex remembers what they were made to do back in Sona.
Relationships: Alexander Mahone/Michael Scofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Life or Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingAubergine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingAubergine/gifts).



"Do it," Michael said, low and harsh, like Alex hadn't been about to do it anyway. 

The fact was, he hadn't intended to wait for permission because he didn't give a damn if Michael agreed with his assessment of the situation. Lechero had laughed and told him to fuck him or kill him, he didn't care which, and there was Michael, face bloodied, on his knees on the floor. Lechero had said he'd just get someone else to do it if he didn't. Alex believed him, and he also believed most of Sona's population would have wrapped their hands around Michael's neck and squeezed rather than fuck him and spare him. It might even have done good things for their status in the hierarchy or what the fuck ever if they'd killed him. Alex, on the other hand, actually needed Michael to live. 

"What are you waiting for?" Michael said, but there was a note in his voice as he knelt there at his feet that said maybe he wasn't sure which way Alex was going to jump. It was an interesting idea, that Michael wasn't sure he wouldn't choose to kill him. It was sort of sickly thrilling. And even if he was tense and jittery and almost literally shaking, that didn't seem to stop his cock from taking notice. 

He knelt and wrapped his arms around Michael's waist from behind him, and he unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled down the zipper and pushed one hand inside and Michael hissed in a breath as Alex pressed his palm flat against him, over his underwear. Alex curled his fingers around him over the fabric of his boxer shorts and gave a slow stroke. He felt Michael's cock start to stiffen and he rubbed the tip with his fingers and felt a drop of precome from it moisten a patch of cotton. Turned out he wasn't waiting for anything. 

He shoved Michael's jeans and boxers down over his hips. He pushed his shirt up and tucked it underneath Michael's arms, then he unzipped his own pants and shoved them down and pushed Michael down with one hand between his shoulderblades. He shifted closer. He gave his cock a stroke then rubbed the length of it between his cheeks. Michael tensed and Lechero chuckled and his fucking flunkies laughed, and if Alex had been armed, still FBI instead of just another goddamn junkie prisoner, he'd've shot them all dead were they stood, no hesitation. 

Alex knew it wasn't going to be great. Michael was understandably tense and Lechero hadn't seen fit to give them either condoms or lube, so all he could do - short of making Michael come then using his come as lube - was part his cheeks and spit at his hole. Lechero's men seemed to find that fucking hilarious but Alex ignored them; he rubbed the tip of his dick against Michael's hole, then realised there was no damn way he wasn't going to hurt him and probably himself, so eased one finger in instead. He crooked it, felt his way around, and then Michael tensed and his thighs went weak. He caught himself, but Alex felt it. So he rubbed there, slow circles, until Michael's breath was fast and his cock was almost dripping. 

He used that, Michael's precome and his own and his own saliva, to slick his hole and push against him. Maybe it wasn't comfortable but he guessed that was pretty far from the point; the point was humiliation, and showing exactly who was in control there, but Alex guessed he had control of one thing if nothing else. He slipped one hand around to cup Michael's balls and give a slow, firm squeeze as he pushed forward, as he felt the tight rim of his hole give just enough for him to push the head of his cock inside. 

He pushed Michael's shirt up higher over his back, baring some of the tattoos he'd spent so damn long staring at in photographs. He raked the nails of his free hand down over them and Michael shivered and Alex eased a little further in and fuck, it was a tight fit, and _fuck_ , he was watching Michael's hole stretch around his cock as he pushed inside him. He rubbed the rim of him, down past the base of his tattooed spine, feeling how taut it was with the girth of his own dick. He hadn't had a guy like that since before he'd gotten married and Jesus, he'd always used a condom and enough lube to float a battleship, but Michael's bare ass was stretched around his cock so tight that Alex could barely move. But he did; he pushed in slowly, making Michael's breath come fast and hard, and he gave his balls another squeeze before he rubbed his fingertips behind. Michael shuddered. And Alex pushed in deeper, pushed as deep as he could go, then took a hitching breath in. 

He slipped his hands to Michael's hips. He squeezed. He could see Michael hanging his head, and he could feel Michael squeeze around him, slowly, absolutely on purpose, and Alex bit back a groan because fuck, the fact Michael was thinking about it, about his cock in him, at least enough to think about tensing himself around him... He'd expected him to just try to relax and bear it, but this was something else. He knew how Michael thought, he'd had a crash course in that back after Fox River, and Michael's attention turned on him like that was like a bolt of goddamn lightning. 

Michael pushed back against him and Alex saw fucking stars. Lechero muttered something to one of his goons, something about how Michael must like it, maybe he was doing him a favor, and Alex could feel his face flush and his dick twitch as he wondered if maybe that could be true or if Michael just wanted to speed things along and get it over with. He figured it was probably the latter, but it made him think. Made him think about how he'd found no evidence of Michael having romantic or sexual relationships at all, except maybe his sham wife and the prison doctor, and even those were debatable. 

Alex gripped Michael's hips and rocked his own and wondered if Michael even liked men, if this was his first time or his hundred and first, and Michael spread his knees a little wider and pushed back harder against him. And Alex found himself wondering what it would've been like if Michael was still just an architect, and if they'd wound up in a hotel room instead of Sona, and without a fucking audience. He'd've liked to've looked him in the face, had him on his back, naked so he could see the tattoos or else the bare skin where the tattoos might have been, in another lifetime. He'd have kissed him, for sure. He'd have liked to then. But all he could do was slide his hands a little higher over Michael's sides as he moved his hips and started to fuck him. 

It didn't last long. Alex was too damn shaky, and too tense, and Michael braced himself and pushed back against him, met his thrusts, muffling a groan against his shirt over his bicep. Alex was too damn hot, sweat trickling down his spine, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, felt his toes scuff against the dusty floor as his hips snapped tightly. And he came in him, pushed up inside him, holding tight, in a heady fucking breathless rush. 

It didn't last long and then Alex pulled out and slumped back on his heels. He rested his head back, trying to avoid looking at Michael. Then he turned his head if not the rest of him toward Lechero. 

"Good enough?" he asked. 

Lechero nodded. He gave a dismissive flap of one hand. "Go," he said. "Take him with you." And Alex didn't need telling twice; he tucked himself back in and tugged Michael by the arm and he took him out of there. Six minutes later, sweaty and breathless against the graffitied wall of a cell nearby, Alex leaned in close and stroked until Michael came over his hand. And the rest of what happened in Sona is history. 

Now, here they are. It's what, five years, six, maybe seven years later? He hasn't kept count. Another failed marriage in the meantime, but he has a steady job in a well-paid security firm and he's been clean for years, boring boring boring, normal. But three weeks ago, Michael Schofield turned up on his doorstep and at the very least he could have used a drink, if not something stronger. 

"What do you want, Michael?" he asked. He put his hands on his hips, belligerent. "Or whatever bullshit name you have these days." 

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

He thought about saying no. Then he let him in, because he knows he was always going to. 

Alex was in the middle of dinner and he'd made enough for five because he'd never learned to scale things down for one, so they ate together, pretty much in silence. Then, while they sat there at the kitchen table, Michael said, oh-so-casual, "Do you remember what happened in Sona?"

"Which part, exactly?" Alex replied. 

MIchael leaned forward, arms on the table edge. He raised his brows pointedly. "You know which part," he said. 

Alex sipped his water. He shrugged, because two could play at casual. "Does it strike you as something I'd forget?"

Michael made a face. Then he got to the point; Alex had known there had to be one. 

They checked into a hotel in Marseille three days later. Michael kissed his neck as they waited in the lobby to make it look convincing. They were wearing matching rings. Alex was pretty sure they convinced, but it wasn't enough. In the room, they knew they were being watched, so they made it look really good; when they screwed against the nearest wall, it was so good even Alex could've been convinced. And in the morning, when Michael went down on his knees in the shower, kissed him, sucked him, looked up at him with that fucking cocky smile, it didn't feel like window-dressing for a job until he pulled back and said a name that wasn't _Alex_.

Now, job done, they're back home in Alex's kitchen. There's a pizza on the table between them, half-eaten. Alex is almost surprised neither of them's been shot, but he's not surprised what they did there worked. 

"Stay the night," Alex says, on impulse, more impulsive than he likes to be these days, and Michael frowns. 

"Why would I do that?" he asks. 

"Because I asked you to." He leans forward. "Because you want to." 

"Do I?"

"You didn't have to come to me, Michael. What kind of impression did you want me to get?"

Michael looks at him, steadily, but from what Alex can tell, he's really close to smiling. There's no denial there, not even close. 

"I guess you're right," he says, and he doesn't leave. He just pours himself another cup of coffee. 

And Alex knows this is a bad idea. It's a terrible idea. But at least it won't be dull.


End file.
